


Something Calling In The Dead Of Night

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Incubus Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Siren Stiles Stilinski, Violence, exasperated uncle peter, hints of stiles/peter, maybe crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-10-04 22:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10291355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’m going out to check on some things,” Peter slides his laptop into his bag and grabs his keys and wallet. “Don’t have sex with it.”Derek almost flinches at what Peter says, “What the fuck? Peter, also, he’s not an it.”Peter rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Don’t do it. And maybe try and work a name out for it.”The words “Him!” chase him out the door.His nephew is an idiot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Could Frame Thy Mortal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10200566) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Lololol okay what even is this fic. I think I'm technically writing crack fanfiction of my own fic? This is where I've shoved a bunch of ideas that didn't fit with my other fic (Could Frame Thy Mortal) and then decided "why not write Sterek for the first time"?? What could go wrong???? Let's have stiles be some kind of Siren-Incubus hybrid??? That'll work???
> 
> This was supposed to be 5k at best, but I've got 10k written. It's something to focus on while I upload my other completed fic.
> 
> I'm sorry and I hope you enjoy it?

He’s a pathetic little thing, sitting in the room, eyes jumping around trying to take in every detail of what they’re doing. He’s all skin and bones, looks dwarfed by Derek’s sweater they pulled over his shoulders as soon as Derek tried to make a persuasive argument that they should free him instead of putting him down like the rest of the miserable creatures they find.

It was the third facility they raided, looking for Laura. The state that most of the supernatural beasts they find are in gives Peter little hope that she’s still alive. But he doesn’t tell Derek that.

The kid looks normal enough, except for the giant scar across his neck. Where they cut out his voice box. A siren, easier to handle when they can’t talk.

“Why isn’t he eating?” Derek asks. There’s a plate of crackers and cheese in front of the kid. He’d eyed them - like he eyed everything else - fingers twitching like his body almost snatched them up on impulse. But refused to touch them all the same.

“Take a bite out of one of them.” Peter answers, not really looking up from the laptop but with half an eye on what is going on.

“What?”

“Take a bite out of a cracker and put it back on the plate.”

Derek sends him a dubious look but picks one up anyway, biting the edge and swallowing before placing it back onto the plate. As soon as he does the kid snatches it, shoving the whole thing in his mouth - barely chewing - before swallowing it down. He eyes the rest of them, assessing, deciding against eating more.

“What the fuck? How did you know that’ll work?” Derek is more shocked than impressed.

“You let him know it’s not poisoned.”

“Why the fuck would they be poisoned?”

Derek is still a kid himself really, doesn’t understand the dark underbelly of the world of hunters who hate the supernatural. He'd been sheltered from it before Laura.

“I’m betting before now he’s not been able to trust what’s in his food.”

Derek frowns. He’s always frowning. Sometimes Peter regrets taking him with him, should have left him home with his mother. But it’s good to have a second, and he’s a good fighter. Enough righteous anger that he’ll gut a hunter if it means finding his sister. _They aren’t going to find his sister, but they are going to make the Argents pay._

“That’s fucked up.” Derek picks up and takes bites out three of the crackers and two of the blocks of cheese. The kid grabs them all as soon as they are back on the plate, cramming them in his mouth like this might be his only chance.

“Quite. Although…” Peter turns and looks the kid in the eye, “...How does he know you’re not just immune to whatever we put in them?” He says with a smirk.

The kid freezes. Looking a bit sick, terrified all of a sudden. It’s a mean thing to say (although that doesn’t stop it being amusing) but it confirms Peter’s suspicions that the kid does understand them. Just can’t speak back. Doesn’t expect to be told something he needs to respond to. It’s good to know, now Peter knows to watch what he says in front of him.

“Shut up Peter!” Derek snaps, reaching out a hand to take the kid’s arm. It makes the kid quake. “None of it is poisoned, we’re not going to hurt you. We saved you, okay? You’re safe now.”

Peter snorts and goes back to his research.

Derek takes a bite out of everything on the plate and puts it back down. The kid doesn’t want to touch any of it now, which distresses Derek. And he starts coaching him with soft little words, telling him that everything is going to be okay now. It’s nauseating.

“I’m going out to check on some things,” Peter slides his laptop into his bag and grabs his keys and wallet. “Don’t have sex with it.”

Derek almost flinches at what Peter says, “What the fuck? Peter, also, he’s not an it.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Whatever. Don’t do it. And maybe try and work a name out for it.”

The words “Him!” chase him out the door.

His nephew is an idiot.

* * *

 

When Peter gets back he can hear Derek vomiting in the toilet. The room smells of sex, and something dark like liquid silver. It sinks into his pores and makes his blood pump a bit harder. The kid is sitting on the bed, naked, eyes darting around like always. Fear in his body, but also triumph. He looks stronger, no less skinny, but less like his rib cage is going to collapse in on itself. His jaw is raised slightly, the long red scar on full display.

His nephew is an idiot.

“Did you not hear what I fucking said?” Peter barks, dumping his bag and going into bathroom. Derek looks like shit, he has bruises up his chest ( _Where the fuck did they come from?_ ) and he’s trembling over the bowl. “When did the vomiting start?”

“Just after.”

“Is it getting worse, or better?” If it’s getting worse they’re in serious shit, because that means this is only just the beginning.

“Better - I think,” he spits some more bile into the toilet and slumps back down onto the floor.

“Well thank fuck for that.” He’s in half the mind to just strangle Derek himself, the teen wouldn’t put up much of a fight right now. “Go lay down.”

Derek drags himself out of the room and begins to head towards the bed, the one that reeks of sex. The kid goes to move towards him slightly - maybe for more deathly sex, or just to protect himself from Peter - but Peter snatches his arm. “No you don’t.”

He drags the kid into the bathroom and pushes him into the shower cubicle, hitting on the water to hose him down. The water must be frigid cold, because Peter learns how horrifying it is to watch someone scream when they can’t make a noise. It thrashes, and jumps out the water, burying its head into Peter’s chest. Like he could protect him from it.

Peter sighs. It’s a manipulative little shit as well.

“Okay, I get it. Cold water is horrible, and I’m cruel, and whatever you did then was just in your nature.” He pushes the kid away from him, but alters the settings so the water is now coming out hot before leaving the kid to have its shower.

He’d really rather not have to smell Derek’s semen anymore, and whatever that _taste_ is that comes from the siren.

He strips the sheets out from under Derek’s passed out body, bundles them up and shoves them in the the laundry chute down the hall before attempting to make a meal out of their resources. There’s no kitchen in their hotel room, although there’s a bar downstairs, but he doesn’t want to risk leaving Derek alone. He’s probably one blow job away from not waking up again. _Not the worse way to go,_ he muses.

There’s a couple of sandwiches in cartons, and a few instant noodle packets that only require a blast of boiling water from the coffee maker. Derek is completely out of it, recovering, so Peter doesn’t bother preparing anything for him.

The water shuts off and the door to the bathroom opens, the kid’s naked body visible from the gap. “Dry off.” He orders, not taking in the shape of the teen. He reappears looking dryer and wearing a fluffy white robe they leave in bathrooms for you. It drowns him, makes him look like a fluffy white chinchilla, or the child of the ice queen. It’s almost adorable, if it wasn’t for the fact that the kid looks at everything like it might kill him, or he could kill it.

“Get on the bed.” Peter is trying not to engage, another wave of regret hits him that he let Derek talk him into taking on a survivor. At this rate Derek will be dead, and Peter will have to kill the little shit, and it’ll all be for rot.

The kid gets on the bed, the robe falling open _delicately_ around him, and the scent of silver floods the air again. “Cut it the fuck out.” He growls, teeth coming out and his eyes flashing blue. The scent of fear ratchets up again, and the kid covers himself.

“Good.” Peter opens the sandwich carton - taking a bite out of one of the wedges - before shoving the remains at the thing. “Eat this, and stay quiet.”

Peter pulls up his laptop and begins looking at leads for the next facility. They had thought the one they just visited was the last one, but knowing the Argents there was another tucked away somewhere. There was no sign of Laura’s body, so they’d keep going. Peter snorts to himself in amusement when he finally realises what he said to the kid. _Stay quiet._ That was the only problem they didn’t have.

An hour later and the kid slips off the bed, Peter watches as it walks towards the second twin where Derek is sleeping, put off by Peter’s low growl. Instead it ducks into the bathroom, and Peter listens to him pee, and wash up. When it comes back out, the slightly figure hovers at the end of Derek’s bed. Peter turns and raises an eyebrow.

It’s slightly less flushed pink than when he first saw it, after the sex. Whatever it fed on hasn’t lasted very long, and Peter realises it must have been running at a deficit. It’s such a curious thing, the more you look at it, the more attractive it appears. Rosie lips, large eyes, a small pink tongue that swipes out to wet its mouth. The taste of silver rising steadily. Peter shakes his head.

“If you try and take something from him again while I’m here, I’ll kill you before he wakes up. You understand me?” It doesn’t nod, but after a second it crawls onto the stripped down bed, and tucks itself into the space between Derek’s body and the wall.

Peter snorts. “Clearly I am also an idiot.”

Hours later he finally goes to bed, his sheets smelling slightly like the siren and the taste of sex and silver still in the air. It’s heady and makes dropping off hard. The thing had been shivering, trying to get as close to Derek as possible to steal his heat. Peter ripped off his own blankets and thrown it over the two figures - w _olves didn’t need for blankets at the best of times  -_ before planning the next day’s journey in his head as his lies in his bed

* * *

 

He wakes to the sound of kissing, and it’s a strange mixture of nausea inducing and arousing, that is so confusing in itself that he shouts. “Jesus fucking Christ Derek, _do I need to put it down?_ ”

Derek flinches, and stops kissing his bedmate. “It was sad.”

“Then buy it a toy to play with. Stop trying to put bits of yourself inside it, especially since it’s obviously trying to kill you.”

“It was an accident.”

“Sure, whatever. Get up and shower. You stink of sex.”

The kid watches him warily when Derek leaves and Peter pointedly ignores it, putting the room together.

He has to send Derek out to find it some more normal clothes. It’s so small that even what he brings back hangs off it (Peter notices he doesn’t let go of Derek’s hoodie) and his nephew fusses putting a scarf around it to so as to obscure the scarring. The kid keeps leaning into Derek’s touch as he does it, not really smiling (and it would be wrong to say it smells _happy_ ) but highlighting how much he likes the attention. It’s exhausting just to watch.

“Hurry the fuck up. I’d rather not lose my lunch before I’ve even had it.”

The pay up the hotel room, pile into the car (“ _No Derek you can’t sit in the back with it, I need you up front with the map. Or were you lying when you said you wanted to actually help out with this operation?_ ”) and by the early afternoon they pull into a diner.

Peter wonders if the kid will run away. They haven’t exactly tried to keep him, and to be very honest if it left that would just be a boon in his eyes, but it’s interesting all the same. Derek also seems to wonder the same thing, and clearly doesn’t like the idea, trying to crowd as close as possible to the slight figure.

“Wait.” Peter says, realising at this rate they might have actually been kidnapped someone instead of rescuing him. There was no point dragging the wretched thing out of state (they’re heading to Arizona) if it had a loving (albeit probably equally murderous) family near by. He splits them up, shoving Derek behind him, forcefully since as he seems unkeen to move.

“Peter we’re outside in broad daylight.”

“If you think I’m going to batter the thing to death, I would have done it while you were asleep _nephew_ now walk away.” Derek doesn’t want to, but gives in by taking a few steps away. Peter let’s go of the kid’s arm and also begins walking away, hands in the air. The kid hasn’t moved yet, its eyes jumping around. Eyeing the exit of the car lot, and then flicking back to Peter, and then Derek. Peter stops when he’s next to Derek, and watches it.

“What are we doing?" Derek asks distrustful.

“We’re giving it the chance to run away.”

Derek makes an unhappy face, but waits as well.

Peter really thinks it’s going to make a run for it. His ability to read body language (especially for prey, and the tiny slip of a thing is definitely reading as prey - even if it could probably take him down in a night with just one blow job.) keying him into the kid’s intentions to bolt. It almost takes the first step, and he hears Derek hold his breath. But then it relaxes, deciding something, looking over at Derek and walks towards them.

Derek lets out a breath, which makes Peter roll his eyes and turn towards the entrance of the diner.

He orders a steak for himself, a burger for Derek and a side of fries. He has no idea what he should feed the kid, so opts for another burger and glasses of orange juice for all of them. The kid is beside the window, Derek next to him. _Trying to stop it running away_. And Peter watches them both from his seat on the opposite side. Derek won't stop touching it, little touches on the thigh, drinking from the kid's orange juice and encouraging him to drink some. It really is sickening.

"I have lead, although I can't be sure it will mean anything. Whatever they've got left must be buried pretty deep in their assets."

Peter had been digging into every known (and including the previously unknown) hunter that has ever so much as spoken to the Argents.

Derek nods, not saying anything. He always was pretty tight lipped, and Peter regrets picking up another silent companion, it would have been good to have someone to actually bounce ideas off. Not that he'd trust something that seems to be powered by stealing other people's strength.

The kid is obviously not worried that the food here is poisoned, but let's Derek take a bite out of everything he's going to eat anyway. For a tiny thing it can eat a lot, wolfing down every half fry Derek leaves for him and the whole burger, before starting on whatever Derek lets him have off his plate. Between them they eat everything and Derek is smiling.

He doesn't smile very often, especially since Laura went missing. Begrudgingly Peter is grateful for the distraction, before he remembers that the kid is trying to murder his nephew with sex.

They drive all day, finding a motel room with two beds--

_"Can I have my own room?"_

_"No. Stop trying to fuck it, you still looking fucking shit from last time."_

_"Him. He's not an it."_

\--and they crash for the night.

Peter wakes up to Derek vomiting in the toilet again and the room positively reeking with sex. He has an erection, and the kid is staring at him like he knows it.

"I'm going to murder you."

It flinches. "It's not his fault." Derek calls weakly from the bathroom.

"I meant you. I'm going to fucking murder you, so I don't have to watch you die by orgasms."

He makes Derek have the cold shower this time, and spends the rest of the early hours researching.

 

* * *

 

 

A week and he's just come to accept the awful arrangement. He comes pretty close to getting them their own room, but the idea that it might actually kill off his nephew stops him. Mainly because Talia would then kill him, and not because he doesn't believe Derek totally deserves it.

The kid is very clingy, which Derek positively adores. It's always in his clothes, in his space. Squirming in his lap, or touching his arms. It clearly has some kind of oral fixation as there is always something in its mouth.

It's sitting under Derek's arm as the young man browses maps of Argent owned land, trying to spot something that might give them a clue about another facility. The kid has Derek's hand in its grasps, and it mouthing at the fingers available to him. He pushes one of them into his greedy red mouth, sucking lewdly on the digit. Staring at Peter straight in the eye, hollowing its cheeks with very slurp. The taste of silver prickles his sinuses.

"Stop it."

Derek looks up, and smiles. "He's not doing anything."

"You're an idiot, and I wasn't talking to you. Stop it, it's not going to work." The kid just stares at him innocently, letting the hand drop from his mouth.

"You're always scaring him."

"Good. It needs to know that I can bash its head in if needed."

Derek rolls his eyes, "Are you ever going to stop calling him It?"

"Have you named _him_ yet."

Derek frowns, which isn't as common an expression anymore. "It feels wrong to name someone else. He probably already has one."

Peter rolls his eyes and goes back to his own research, "It doesn't have a voice box, that isn't going to change, pick a name."

That night Peter has to listen to Derek coo at it for hours, apologising for not knowing his name. Offering him different ones. It doesn't talk very much, and Peter doesn't mean the permanent mutism, he means even answering yes or no questions with head shakes. It's more expressive with Derek though, and Peter falls asleep hoping he doesn't wake up to Derek fucking it.

 

* * *

 

 

"Stiles."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's what we're going to call him."

"That isn't really a name."

"He likes it, I don't know why."

Peter is about to ask how that offering even came up, but then decides he has better things to worry about.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter does walk in on them fucking a few times, each time more horrifying than the last. He really didn't want to know what his nephew looks like in the act of coitus. Firm muscled arse, clenching with every thrust into the slighter body beneath him. His hips fluttering forward even as he looks up in horror at seeing his uncle.

"I'm going to get a drink. If you're dead when I get back, you deserve it."

Derek doesn't throw up as much these days, but he clearly isn't well. The continued exposure to something that is literally feeding off him slowly debilitating him. It's getting to the point that Peter realises if they're attacked by hunters, then Derek is going to be pretty easy to take down.

Of course his nephew doesn't listen however.

 

* * *

 

 

They come back from a reconnaissance excursion and find their hotel room empty. Derek had left it (" _His name is Stiles, Peter!_ ") tucked in bed with a film on when they left five hours previous, and now there was no sign.

"Do you think someone took him?" Derek asks, looking under the bed as if they could have just missed Stiles constantly racing heart beat.

“Possibly.” Peter scents the area however and there’s no trace of intruders. There hasn’t even been a maid from what he can tell. All the same he checks the place for traps, any mountain ash or wolfsbane.

“We should switch hotels.” He tells Derek sternly.

“What? No, how will he know where we are?”

Peter can feel a headache come on. If he’s being honest, he’s had a low grade headache since _Stiles_ came into their lives. Although that was definitely Derek’s fault. Stiles was being a totally normal hell freak trying to sap the life out of everything it touches, it was Derek who was keeping it in their lives.

“Okay. One night we’ll stay. But tomorrow we’re moving.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek convinces him to stay a second night, and Peter wonders when Derek became so good at emotional manipulation. Probably around the time that he started smiling more, and no longer broke down crying about Laura every time they lost the trail. Peter wishes the distraction wasn’t something so dangerous, but then his nephew was clearly emotionally stunted enough that a pet siren he can literally fuck to death and coddle at whim was obviously going to happen sooner or later.

It’s almost 9 o’clock at night when the window creaks open, and a small figure drags itself inside.

It smells of sex, male - probably a few of them - and the smell of silver is so overwhelming Peter feels like there should be puddles of it dripping onto the floor. That’s not the worst thing however.

“Derek… It smells like death.”

His nephew had gotten off the bed towards it, but stops as he scents the air. It’s obvious, dead people always have a specific smell that once you taste it you won’t ever forget.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks quietly.

“Derek. It killed someone, maybe more than one someone.”

Derek clearly looks conflicted, he wants to get closer. Stiles looks a bit out of it however, its eyes are completely blown, and its not standing completely still. It’s high, completely drunk on what it’s eaten that night. Peter is suddenly painfully aware of how little it appears to have been taking from Derek up until now.

He doesn’t think of that as a good thing. In some ways it means that Derek isn’t dead when he very clearly could be, on the other, it means that it appears to have long term plans for his nephew.

“Make it take a shower before I vomit.” Peter says, accepting that literally nothing he can do now that will save them. At best he could murder it, in front of Derek. But then Derek would have lost two people in the past eight months, and Peter just isn’t strong enough for that.

Derek gets in the shower with it, but he isn’t subjected to the usual sounds of sex. Even Derek can’t ignore the smell of literal death apparently.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s strange sex high lasts for a few days, before it starts looking more normal. Responding to noises and words as if he actually knows they’re there. It looks healthier, the skin more plush and some of the worse scars on the body lesson. The one over the neck is still noticeable, but smooth now. It has probably been starved the whole time they’ve had it, and only now has it dared to go out and feed properly.

It’s unlikely to stop.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek still fucks it, in fact he does it more. Peter has the feeling that now it has fed properly elsewhere it takes less from Derek. His nephew looks healthier too, although it clearly is still a drain on his resources.

Peter wakes one night to them fucking. Maybe it’s because they’re wolves (only so far you can get from another family member to fuck someone, you all just have to pretend you can’t hear) but he just can't care that much that it is happening. He does care, it’s fucking ridiculous. But not because he’s seeing sex, but because it’s so fucking weird that Derek appears to have literally zero self preservation.

His dick is in something literally built to kill those who penetrate it.

Peter has an erection. He's used to it, the association of silver and erections. The taste of sex in the air. He has no wish to engage, sharing even a regular partner with his nephew isn't on his to do list, nevertheless one that is so fucked up as Stiles.

The kid is on top. Naked, pale thighs straddling Derek's tan hips. They're trying to be quiet (Stiles is always quiet) but the noise of skin slapping against skin stills rings through the room. His nephew is touching the kid's face, soft little touches, stroking its high cheek bones, and dipping into the mouth that sucks him down. It's romantic and overly intimate, Peter muses. Ridiculous, the soft looks Derek keeps shooting the thing that wants to kill him, and the loving words of praise he litters it with.

The thrusts speed up, Derek holding onto Stiles' hips. Constantly changing his mind if he wants to _go faster_ or slow it down again. Stiles has his neck thrown back, mouth open, moaning silently. _Sirens are supposed to have a song, Peter wonders if this is when he should hear it._ Hand's grappling with the flesh of Derek's stomach. His little cock is hard and bops against Derek as he bounces up and down.

Derek's pleasure fills the air, Peter watches his face fall apart in ecstasy. Eyes slammed shut, but the ghost of supernatural blue whispering under them anyway.

And then it gets really fascinating.

Seconds after Derek cumming inside him Stiles shakes, his mouth opening _this is the song_ and his hips bucking. He might be trying to get off of Derek, put some space between them, but the older man just holds him closer, pumping his cum into the pliant body. He's panting but the sound is wounded, and the smell of silver bursts open into the room anew. Everywhere Stiles is touching him comes out in bruises. Blood coming to the skin. Stiles orgasms messily. His little cock vibrating and spraying cum over Derek's stomach, but it looks inconsequential to the pleasure Stiles is getting from _taking_ from Derek. His nephews face is creased in pain, he's frozen, not able to move away, in fact looks possessed on keeping it going. To give Stiles more, to offer more flesh for Stiles to take from.

A few minutes later and Stiles opens his eyes, sliding off Derek. Panting (that makes some noise, Stiles’ heartbeat and breathing are the only noises he makes) and putting distance between them. Derek winces in pain, there's a particularly bad bruise on his left side where Stiles' hand had _gripped_ him, and his dick looks fire red and hard even though he only just came. _He could have kept going, if Stiles needed him to._

Unsurprisingly Derek brings Stiles back into his arms. Coddles him. Tells him it's okay, kissing him, until both of their heart rates are back to normal. Derek probably knows that Peter's awake, that he's been awake the whole time, but it's not of matter.

"Come on, let's shower." Derek says, leading his bedmate out the room.

Peter goes back to sleep. Enlightened but not particularly pleased with any of the information they have.

 

* * *

 

 

The bunker they've been tracking turns out to be a weapons armory. It's a lot of equipment, a decent store that they can take out of the hunter’s hands. It's not a waste of time, every thing they take from the hunters is worth the time spent, but it isn't Laura.

Peter is glad that Stiles is there for Derek to lose himself in, but he hates himself for thinking it.

 

* * *

 

 

"Peter! Where have you been?"

"-I told you, I just went-"

"-it doesn't matter. Stiles knows where Laura is."

Peter eyes the figure menacingly. It doesn't look particularly happy, and he gives it a hard look. _You're already wringing my nephew dry, you better not be trying to take this too._

"What do you mean?"

"I went online to get a photo of her. I thought that it'd be a good idea if we had a copy if we found another facility and she wasn't there. There might have survivors like Stiles and we could show them the photo.... And then I showed him it, and he recognises her."

Peter is still staring at Stiles. "You recognise her?"

Stiles doesn't like communicating with anyone other than Derek, but after a moment of sitting stock still he nods. His heart rate is fast, but no more than usual.

"Okay... I'll make plans to head back... Derek, will you go get dinner?"

"Can't you go, I want to talk to Stiles some more-"

"-we want to leave as soon as possible and I need to make plans. Get chinese food, enough for tomorrow as well, we'll leave early." Derek nods, kisses Stiles' head and grabs his jacket on the way out.

The room is silent.

Peter is strangely aware of how little the room smells like silver in that moment. Stiles always has a low riding metallic smell, but it's barely there right now. It makes the moment feel more sincere.

Peter still doesn't say anything straight away.

Stiles is watching him warily, but not putting on his usual _I'm going to try and bolt any second now_ attitude.

"You recognised a picture of Laura."

Stiles nods. It's strange for them to be talking, Peter's base interaction with the siren is pretending he doesn't exist.

"Were you lying? If you are... This is your one chance to get away from this unharmed. I'll be angry that you upset Derek, but I'll let it go. Let him down gently. Call this off before it gets over your head and I'm forced to do something more drastic."

Stiles doesn't do anything and just nods again.

"Is that you saying you lied?"

Stiles shakes his head.

"You're saying you really saw her."

Stiles nods.

Peter feels like collapsing, he doesn't know if this is what he wanted to hear. Part of him wanted to keep chasing Laura's ghost until it exhausted them, better that way than to face reality. But this might mean she's alive.

Stiles approaches him.

Normally when he does this when they're alone he's trying to be seductive. Trying to enact some sort of manipulation. _He doesn't smell of silver._

He picks up Peter's hand and traces something on his palm. Peter realises this must be how they communicate, Derek and Stiles. It explains a lot.

"I don't understand."

Stiles starts again.

_D... E... A... D..._

Peter lets out a deep sigh. "I see."

 

* * *

 

 

They find Laura's remains in a shallow mass grave only a few miles from the facility. She hasn't really started decomposing, which is almost worse because they can see the damage done to her.

She's missing both of her legs.

They'd seen a lot of amputations during the time they had been raiding facilities. He'd just never let himself imagine her this way.

He wraps her in a tarp and brings her to the car.

"Let's go home." He tells Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this as trash as I think it is?  
> Should I even be allowed to call this Sterek as its Peter's POV??  
> Find out next week on: "Reason 34593435 On Why Derek Needs Constant Adult Supervision".


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The practicalities of having a siren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for some reason you all loved this??? Apparently you have an as fucked up sense of humour like me, SO THAT'S AWESOME. 
> 
> Lolol ok here's some more, I hope you're all enjoying Peter being subjected to Sterek & dragging us along for a ride.

After six months of being on the road being home is strange. The whole family is wrecked. There had always been a glimmer of hope before. That their future Alpha would have survived, that she was out there somewhere, but now all of that was trashed.

It was peaceful though. Talia cries through the entire funeral, but her speech is beautiful. He longs to know how to comfort her.

It's time to put the body to rest, Peter mused to himself. And let them move on with their lives.

 

* * *

 

 

The issue of Stiles however quickly comes to a head.

"How could you let this happen?" Talia shouts at him, her face pale and eyes red. Glowering at Peter as Derek stands protectively in front of Stiles.

The kid has been making himself as small as possible over the past few days, staying out of the way. Trying not to pop up on the radar of the family.

That all falls apart when Derek - the fucking idiot - sleeps with him and the whole pack is alerted to the smell of silver and _wrong_.

"He was the first one we found with any life left in him."

Talia frowns, she looks so much like Derek in that moment. "Well, good. I'm glad you didn't leave him there to rot. But I meant Peter, how could you let my son become involved with something like that??"

Derek pipes up, "He has a name. His name is Stiles."

Peter rolls his eyes. "That's not the point!” Talia snaps.

"Look, I know none of this is ideal, and I am clearly an idiot for giving your son even an inch of freedom. But it was.. tough out there. It was a distraction. It didn't hurt him.. Permanently. And it all worked out fine. So let's just leave this behind us, alright?"

Talia looks like she wants to say more. She looks like she wants to tear Peter's balls off and feed them to him. But she nods, deciding it's best saved for another time.

"Fine." She turns to Derek, "I want him out the house. You are not to see him again."

"Where is he supposed to go? He can't talk! He doesn't have anyone."

"Derek I just buried one of my children, I don't want to to go through that again."

Derek frowns. "He won't kill me."

"That's enough, you have an hour." She walks off muttering that she'll kill Derek herself, and Peter feels vindicated finally.

Derek turns to him, "Where is he supposed to go?"

 

* * *

 

He goes to Peter’s house.

It is the last thing Peter wanted.

In fact, it was so far from the last thing he wanted that he didn't even bother to dream it would ever happen .

Stiles it set up in the spare room in his little apartment. He's only small himself, so the tiny box room doesn't seem to offend him. Compared to the three way shared room they'd been enduring for the majority of their previous exploits, it's probably the lap of luxury to him. _And that’s without considering the literal cell they found him in._

Peter can't believe he's been conned into this.

"Your mother is going to kill us." He tells Derek as he settles Stiles in, putting Stiles favourite hoodie of Derek's into the chest of draws, along with the clothes they'd picked up for him along the way.

"She won't find out."

"Of course she'll find out."

"Are you going to tell her?"

"I never tell your mother anything, this is how I know she'll find out. She always finds out."

  


* * *

 

Talia does find out, but in the end she can't do much about it either.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles comes back stinking of sex, silver, but at least very rarely death.

When the latter does happen he calls Derek, because he doesn't want to to deal with a blissed out little sociopath haunting his house.

Peter sometimes wonders if he's supposed to ask what's going on. If Derek is alright. That his (boyfriend? friend? pet?) is fucking other people, sometimes killing them, and then coming back to him. It can't be good for the psyche.

Peter isn't one to talk about healthy relationships however, so he keeps his mouth shut. Allows whatever moralising conversations Talia probably hurls at her (now) eldest child to be enough.

He stays out of it.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a strange life. For the most part Peter ignores his house guest, and is ignored straight back. There's a strict rule on Stiles' showering after he comes back from fucking someone, just to keep the taste out the house. There is also a strict rule on Stiles not trying to seduce him, but he ignores that one half the time.

The point is that Stiles doesn't really do anything. It's just... An allure. One minute Peter is sitting at his laptop looking up known Argent aliases ( _"It's not healthy Peter, we have to let this go. You found her, and we buried her." "Talia, this isn't your decision to make."_ ) and Stiles is skulking around the living room eating whatever food Peter left out for him, and then Peter is looking at him.

He has the kind of body that looks like it'd break in all the right places for Peter. Where his teeth could break open, and narrow limbs that could be easily pinned above his head. Sometimes the image of Stiles' little cock bobbing on Derek's abdomen comes to mind, the way a mouth was open to sigh in pleasure but nothing can come out. The more he looks, the more he wants. Sometimes he gets closer, other times Stiles comes to him.

As soon as he's in touching distance the spell breaks. He can smell Derek on him, all his utter affection and soppy emotions are buried inside Stiles almost as deep as the silver.

"Enough." Peter snaps at Stiles who at some point got on his knees in front of him. A cold hand placed gingerly on his knee. "Get up. Go shower." Peter hates to think what his annual water bill will look like next time.

 

* * *

 

 

He slips up once.

Peter isn't drunk, although he's probably tipsy, but mostly he's sexually frustrated because a date didn't go as planned. He knows it’s a bad idea because as soon as he gets home he checks to see if Stiles is in. The teen is (his hair is a little longer now, which is a shame, there was something beautiful about being able to see the ridges of his skull) laying on his bed looking at the ceiling. Whole universes must be going on inside that head, he's rarely consuming other media. The only things that really interest him is eating, fucking and Derek. (Apparently all three at the same time, which Peter desperately wishes he didn't know).

Peter keeps his distance for most of the evening. He cracks open a beer and congratulates himself on avoiding temptation.

The second beer and he can hear Stiles scavenging in the kitchen. The kid really should have put on weight by now,  seeing how he would happily eat Peter out of house and home, but after overcoming his initial skeletal appearance he's not put anything on at all.

_Wrong kind of food._

Peter watches Stiles slink into the room, his fingers sticky with trifle that Peter had shoved in there that morning. And two plums in his hand. Watching him eat is an experience, Stiles watches him back openly, pushing fleshy treats between his lips. Sucking on fingers to chase sugared release. The taste of silver infuses which the heady scent of overripe fruit. Stiles' lips are glossy from his ministration. His little tongue coming out to swipe over his pout, seeking out the residue.

Peter has an erection. That isn't new.

Stiles is kneeling between his thighs. That isn't new.

Stiles’ clever hand slips up his leg. This isn't very new.

Stiles has his hands around his dick, large eyes blown and open looking up at him he pushes the sticky tip between his lips. This part is definitely new.

 

* * *

 

 It feels like dying. That's the only way he can describe it. He wants it, so much, it's not even about the pleasure anymore, although the need to push forward is indescribable, he just wants. Even as his heart clenches painfully in his chest, even as he bones start to ache because there's something being _taken_ from him, he wants it anyway.

Like the promise of death is the only thing that matters to him. Like he would cross entire mountain ranges, rip the stars out of the sky, throw himself into a volcano for this.

For second he thinks he can hear a song in his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter vomits in the toilet. He feels like death. He feels like there's something missing from him, and his body is trying to drastically replace it. Peter doesn't want to consider how this would feel if he was human. He’s fairly certain a regular Joe on the street can't rapidly regrow bone marrow. Can't breathe while it feels like there's fifteen thousand little holes in his lungs.

Peter can't imagine how Derek goes through this so often. It's leaves you with the need to stab yourself in the stomach just to make the feeling of _almost dying_ more permanent. A damn ghost of a melody ringing in your ears.

 _Derek_.

Peter slumps on the floor, his limbs shaking and gets out his phone. He should probably tell Derek before he comes over and finds out. It's not the most eloquent text he's ever sent but it works. Peter drags himself into the shower. The water its own agony as it falls on his skin. His dick hurts, it's still hard. He's such a fucking mess. His entire world has been reduced down to sensation.

When he hears Derek's car pull up outside he’s finally getting out the shower, by the time Peter is back in his clothes Derek is already in the apartment kneeling in front of Stiles saying something quietly. Peter could listen if he wanted, but he'd really rather not know. Stiles looks... It's hard to express what Stiles looks like. Guilty isn't the right word, but he's looking at Derek like he's scared.

If the kid is worried Derek is going to hurt him then he's about four months too late, Derek is clearly way over his head.

Derek gets up and looks at Peter and the man tries his best not to look contrite. "I would... prefer if this doesn't happen again, but I know it's not your fault…. He doesn't like that he can't control you, he's acting out. That's on him, but... I would prefer this doesn't happen again." Derek sounds to level headed it's almost exasperating.

Peter's eyes flick to Stiles who is staring at the ground.

"I see.” There isn’t much more he can say. “Make sure he showers."

Before going into his own room to lie down.

His own body is still weak. He can't believe how debilitating it is. He remembers how weak Derek looked those first few weeks and it's suddenly abundantly clear that if he wasn't a werewolf, Derek would be dead right now. Stiles had tried to kill him. Stiles would have killed him, and now Stiles lives with Peter and his nephew comes over to look after him when he comes back from killing other men...

...The whole situation is so fucked up.

Talia was right, this shouldn't have been allowed to happen, worse, it says something really damning about Derek's mental health. His need to stay close to something that is literally fucking killing him. Peter falls asleep, although if you were to describe it accurately, he passes out.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time he properly researches sirens. He probably should have done this long before, but when they met him they were up to their necks in Argent tracking and by the time they got home they were just used to having Stiles around.

Luckily Peter is very good at research.

One day in and he realises that they should all be incredibly grateful that Argent cut out the kid's voice box. There's only so many times you can read about people dashing themselves to death before you realise that could be them.

He decides not to tell Derek that part, the grateful part. It'd probably upset him. He does however tell him what Stiles' abilities should be. That if Stiles ever gets his voice back ( _there is a note somewhere about them being able to regenerate if they feed enough_ ) to run.

He doesn't get a text back.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes three months to find an immunity potion. It's awkward to make, and looks rather deadly in of itself. He wouldn't recommend humans drinking it, but if you know where to go to get the ingredients making it isn't impossible.

Stiles is still living with him. There was a short period of him staying out of Peter's way after _the incident_ , but in the end everything went back to normal. Normal being when your nephew's pet siren tries to fuck your life source away. _Jesus fucking Christ this is all so messed up_.

He wakes up one night with Stiles naked at his doorway. He looks beautiful, the light of the moon bathing his milky skin in a way that makes it shine. Dark eyes watching him, testing him. The taste of silver in the air.

"Go to bed." Peter tell him, voice broken from sleep.

Stiles frowns, sends Peter an annoyed look and slinks out again.

_This is so messed up._

Peter tries the potion. It actually doesn't taste of anything, maybe some residue mercury but seeing how the list of ingredients are as long as his arm, he expected something foul. It leaves him a little shaky though, there's a tremor in his arm for the first hour.

Stiles is laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Peter will never get over how weird it is that the kid needs next to no outside stimulation. He stares, the kid is still beautiful. He was hoping that maybe it would break the allure all together, that in fact Stiles would look disgusting to him now the immunity blinkers him, but alas no such luck. He can still taste silver.

Stiles looks over at him. He doesn't smirk, he never does, that might break the illusion, but he looks pleased. He lets his arm fall off the side of the couch and Peter can see where all his delicate veins are hidden. The kind of place Peter would like to bite open.  

Time always seems to move slowly ( _or it is too fast_ ) in the long drawn out moments between looking at Stiles and then how close they are. But Peter has an awareness this time, it's like someone has cleaned down the windows. He could stop this pretty easily, he thinks.

Stiles takes out his cock, licks up the side and purses his lips around the tip. Sucking. The smell of silver fills the air, Peter knows what happens now he's been here. You get stuck. You get caught in a trance of this, and this, and this, until Stiles is the one who decides it's over.

It doesn't happen.

Stiles’ eyes fly open and he looks at Peter like there's something horrifically wrong with him.

Peter is smug, "Oh dear."

Stiles scowls at him, it's almost satisfying in of itself getting such a human reaction from him. He gets up and leaves Peter with his dick out, and Peter doesn't care. He feels like he's won something.

He calls Derek. "I have an immunity potion."

"Immunity to what?"

"Stiles."

There's a pause, "Have you tested it?"

Whoops. "Yes."

"Right, whatever. And it works?"

"Yes."

"How did Stiles handle that?"

"I don't know, he looked pissed off."

It makes Derek laugh. He's never going to understand his nephew, never going to understand what is happening right under his nose.... He's happy Derek can laugh though.

"Unsurprising. He hates how controlled you are around him. Weirds him out."

" _I_ weird _him_ out."

"Don't worry, I'll come over and talk to him. At least now you guys might have a normal relationship."

Peter thinks Derek doesn't have much right to be lecturing people on 'normal relationships'.

"You're going to take it though?" Peter asks him.

"Oh, right... Yeah of course."

Peter feels like he should warn Derek, that Stiles might leave now he can't get anything from him. That Stiles probably will leave, because he's a little psychopath, and Derek's side of the bargain of slowly killing himself is going to be unpaid once he starts taking the immunity. He doesn't though, mostly because he's a coward. The pain of Stiles leaving will be the same no matter what, so he might as well leave it to Stiles to crush Derek’s happiness. It’s his doing.

He hangs up the phone and Stiles is watching him from the doorway, he's been listening to the conversation.

"Did you hear that? Derek's going to take it as well. It's over."

Stiles’ eyes narrow at him, his fingers gripping the unvarnished doorway beams. Peter stares at him back, part of him worries that Stiles might suddenly learn how to sing again just to spite him. Nothing happens.

"If you're going to leave, do it now before he gets here."

Stiles scowls at him some more and disappears into his bedroom. Peter's bedroom, that Stiles lives in. Because his nephew asked him to. Asked him to house a murderer. A murderer that Derek very clearly is in love with, and is going to be crushed when he leaves. _This is all so messed up._

 

* * *

 

Stiles doesn't leave.

 

* * *

 

 They keep a constant stock of the potion in the fridge, the top shelf is now completely designated to it. He keeps track of them, the numbers, in case Stiles is interfering with them, but thus far nothing. They only need one a week to keep up the immunity, and Peter isn’t taking any chances by not taking it himself. Now and again there is an extra one in the fridge from what he expects. He’s about to ask Derek about it until realisation dawns on him.

_He really wishes he didn’t know this much about Derek’s sex life._

 

* * *

 

 

It was inevitable really, in some ways Peter always expected it. But at the same time, he just got used to everything. That’s what happens when the austere is commonplace, you get used to it. There’s a few hiccups along the way, Peter brings home a date and said date tries to convince him to have a threesome with Stiles. “He’s my nephew’s…. Boyfriend.”

The guy reeks of sex, it’s flattering that he doesn’t seem to want to stop fucking Peter, he just also wants to fuck Stiles. The taste of silver is very high in the air, Peter is almost bowled over by it as it’s so rare he tastes it at this level these days. He calls Derek.

“Tell your _pet_ that if he doesn’t stop trying to fuck my date, he’ll be homeless in the week.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll come over.”

Peter recommends a shower for his date, it's easier to ignore the taste of silver when there's water soaking them. He thinks some of the rationality comes back, "Sorry, I must have been a bit whoozy, I'm not normally that shameless." The guy says in his bed, happy after being fucked through mattress by Peter's dick (and Peter's dick alone).

"It's really all right."

It's not, he doesn't see the guy again.

Derek apologises to him, tries to make an argument that Stiles didn't mean to do it.

"Where is he now?"

"....Out."

"Feeding?"

"Yeah, he's been... Skipping meals. It was an accident."

Peter rolls his eyes, "I literally don't have the mental energy to deal with your denial right now. But fine, whatever. He keeps his metallic paws off my dates, and I'll carry on ignoring him. All right?"

They work out a groove. Derek pretty much moves in, the two of them sharing the pokey little single bedroom. Peter wonders if he should move his office into the small room and give them the slightly bigger space. But then he'd have to do things like: face the fact that this is really happening, deal with Talia facing the fact that this is happening, and probably industrially clean the room to remove all the taste of Stiles being fucked from it.

It's a rhythm though. The Hales mourn and heal in their own way, Derek comes out of himself. He's always been a quiet kid, but having someone to speak for gives him more confidence.

This is why they were all lulled into a false sense of security. Why they made the mistake in thinking that things might actually get better from here.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles throws a plate at his head when he comes in. It's so strange that he just stops and stares at him. The kid looks fucking distraught though, there's an ugly bruise over his face, and Peter irrationally think he's been drinking.

"Okay... I'm going to call Derek."

The place smells weird though, foreign. It puts him on edge, Derek isn't in the flat so he calls him but it goes straight to voicemail. With his back turned a coffee mug goes flying at him and strikes him on the shoulder.

"What the fuck?"

Stiles slams his hand on the kitchen counter, and gets out some paper, scribbling out a message.

His handwriting is appalling, and Peter wonders if he's bothered to use it since they found him. Come to think about it, he doesn't even really know how long Stiles was in the facility. How young was he when they took him? Did he even go to school? He'll ask Derek when he see him.

Stiles shoves the paper - the back of a electric bill - into his hand.

**Derek gone hunters took him 1 hour ago**

Like he said, he should have known that everything was going to go to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this still doing it for you? Sorry hardcore sterek-ers that I included a steter blow job (my regular readers were probably not at all surprised) this is definitely a sterek fic though, you don't have to worry that Stiles suddenly decides that Peter is the one for him. 
> 
> (Peter is an arsehole in this, although tbh Stiles is pretty fucked himself)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see notes at end

_ Some Point Between Derek Taking The Potion And Going Missing. _

 

Derek wakes in the bed, Stiles has been gone for three hours already. He isn't always this long, but he's been longer. Normally anything past the four hour mark means Stiles is going to come back after killing someone. Derek doesn't know who, he knows that Stiles at least tries to pick low lives for that kind of thing, but he's aware that sometimes things get out of hand.

It's not really something he tries to think about.

Peter went to bed two hours ago and the house is quiet. It's always weird being here without Stiles. The small siren is nearly always in the house, doesn't enjoy going outside. One evening Derek tried to take them out for dinner and a movie the were halfway to the car and Stiles was almost shaking from looking around. Derek was disappointed that they couldn't do normal things, but Stiles was never going to be normal. He'd taken them back inside, kissed the siren senseless until he stopped trying to write  _ I'm Sorry _ into Derek's palm.

He didn't like making Stiles feel guilty.

Night time excursions were the only real exception Stiles made to leaving the house, Stiles didn’t even like doing that however. If he could Stiles would stay inside all the time, preferably with Derek. Derek tried not to let that make him happy, he wanted Stiles to overcome his fear of being taken. To be able to walk around outside and interact with things like other people. It wasn’t fair to like that Stiles preferred him to everyone else in the world. 

Derek can taste the silver before he hears the front open. Stiles is very light footed, his slips across the floor barely making a noise, if it wasn’t for Derek’s abilities he’s sure Stiles would find it easy to creep up on him. He doesn’t know if that’s a siren thing or a Stiles things. Lots of things are like that about Stiles. Derek doesn’t know what sirens are like, but he doesn’t really care, he knows Stiles and has him, so that’s enough.

Stiles is hovering outside of the bedroom, not coming in. Derek can hear the younger teen’s heart rate tripping, faster than normal. Not scared, just distressed. The silver masks many of Stiles’ other feelings -  _ a fact Derek knows annoys Peter, because it makes it harder for the man to read Stiles  _ \- he slips off the bed and pads to the door.

“Hey you.” He finds Stiles frowning and staring at the floor.  He reeks of sex, actual sex. He’s fucked someone, he doesn’t do that often. Normally he just gives someone head. Sex normally means he’s starved himself and then accidentally killed someone.  _ At least, Derek thinks it’s an accident.  _

Stiles is still staring at the floor.

“Let’s get you washed up.”

He runs a bath, normally they don’t bother with something more than a shower, but Stiles seems a bit more shaken up that normal. Most of the time Derek is happy to accept Stiles lack of communication, he accepts him - all of him - but when the words would have made it easier for him to support the smaller teen, then he wishes it was easier to talk. 

Derek knows Stiles doesn’t hate all of it, what he has to do. He likes the control, the power. The being able to make people who want to push him around small. It’s why he’s so wary around Peter, who has the will of an ox and brushes the majority of Stiles’ manipulations off. (The powers don’t work as well on wolves, well enough, but they don’t lose themselves the same way human men do. Add to the fact that Peter is the strongest Beta Derek has ever met and the result is one of Stiles' walking nightmares.) Derek just knows that Stiles hates having to fuck them, letting men touch him. If he still had his voice he could feed differently, less intimately. But this is all he has now.

It took weeks to find out these little details from Stiles, and Derek treasures them all even though they are horrifically sad things to know.

Stiles washes his mouth out with mouthwash while they wait for the water to run. He’s still not looking at Derek. His skin is flushed pink, like it is when he’s just fed, and the scent of silver clings to his pores. Derek can sense the anxiety around him though. 

He’d put bubbles in the bath just for fun, the water is stained a lurid red colour from the liquid and Derek second guesses the approach now it looks like it’s been tainted with blood. But then Stiles does his little almost-smile when he puts a hand into the bubbles, feeling the texture against his skin. Hundreds of little bubbles popping. Derek feels like it’s the right decision. 

“Come on then.” He helps Stiles out of his clothes, they’ve touched so many times. Derek feels like he knows every inch of the teen’s skin. Every scar, every concave hollow. Stiles hesitates before getting into the bath, finally looking at Derek and then over at the shower. 

Derek knows he’s never been a talker, he’s always been called quiet. It’s just that words are  _ significant _ , they can be misconstrued. They say a lot about a person. Normally Derek is just mulling over what he should say, what is the right thing to say, and the moment has passed. Everyone else seems to talk so quickly. Stiles gives him the space to say what he needs, what is most valuable. He’s become good at communication.

“Okay, go have a quick shower first. I’ll be back in a second.”

He doesn’t think about Stiles washing another man’s semen out of him as he takes the clothes to the washing machine and puts them through a cycle. He’d accepted this part of Stiles long before, and it’s not a surprise now. 

Derek knocks gently and returns to Stiles sitting in the bath. The siren looks small compared to the mountains of bubble bath (Derek may have been a little over zealous) but his eyes are closed and he’s relaxed into the water. The sight makes some of the tension Derek has been holding since Stiles went out that finally fall from his shoulders. Stiles is okay, he survived another night’s feeding. He’s safe.

“Hey.” Derek whispers kneeling down beside the bath. He grabs the cup on the side of the basin and dips it into the water. Allowing him to tip hot water over Stiles’ head and wash the hair that is now reasonable in length. Derek keeps meaning to ask Stiles if he wants to cut it, but there’s something nice about the way it frames his face. He looks so different from when they first found him, healthier, less damaged. For now Derek doesn’t want to give up the marked improvement. 

Stiles is crying.

“I’m sorry.” Derek answers him, wiping away the tears even though the skin was already damp from the bath. “I know it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry that you’re forced to do this.”

Derek had always thought that crying was a noisy and ostentatious affair, he’d see other people burst into tears and believe them putting it on for attention - or at the very least over reacting. 

He cried a lot over Laura.

Stiles is never loud when he cries.

“I just need to know that you’re not crying for me, yeah? Because I’m okay, this doesn’t hurt me other than that you’re getting hurt. It’s not your fault, I’m okay. These tears have to just be for you, yeah?” Stiles frowns miserably, finally looking directly at Derek for what feels like the first time since he returned, before nodding.

“Good, that’s good. It’s okay, let’s finish up here and we can eat something… Wait ‘til you see what Peter bought at the market today.”

It's another night of abnormal normalcy for Derek, but he wouldn't take any of it back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, in case you haven't seen on my other fics, I'm leaving fandom. I not going to delete any of my fic, so you'll always be able to find it. I'm going to upload everything I have of my fics already written, I'm just not going to write more. (I probably have two more chapters written of this fic, if I can get my head around it I'll tie it up for you all.)
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who has supported me and my fics. This little interlude was always planned to be posted first before the aftermath of Derek going missing, and the plot will carry on as normal from the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end for chapter notes & warnings

Telling Talia that she will end the year with one child when she started the year with three will go down in history as the worst moment of Peter’s life. He thought finding Laura would forever hold that spot, possibly watching the way Talia had hovered over her daughter’s broken body when they had returned with the corpse, but this was definitely worse.

“You can have it.” Is what she says.

“What?”

“The Alpha powers.”

Peter is almost certain he is going to be sick. He remembers being a teenager and fighting Talia in the yard, almost besting her, always being thrown down in the end. Never quite enough. It had smarted all through adolescence and well into his years as a man. There had been seventeen occasions in his life where he has told Talia that she didn’t deserve the powers, that she was a failure and should hand them over. Eight of them he had genuinely meant the words. But now… Was not the time.

“Stay home, look after our pack. I’ll find him.”

Talia is weeping, “Like you found Laura?” She asks.

“No. I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

* * *

 

Peter gets home to find Stiles sitting on the couch, waiting. His eyes jumping up to look at him as he comes through the door. It reminds him of that first day they had him, although then he had thought Stiles as pathetic, wretched, and an utter waste of resources. Now when Peter looks at him, hair recently cut short again, fine wrists with sharp bony knobs, eyes that drink in every inch of the scenery… Now Peter sees a weapon, finely honed to decimate.

He drags a hard back seat from the little dining table he has in the nook, placing it opposite Stiles so his knees are almost knocking into the kid’s own. Once upon a time Stiles would have flinched at the close proximity, or perhaps even tried to seduce him. This is not the time for that.

“He’s gone. The trail went dead as soon as he left this house. Talia, our Alpha, has tried her best to catch a scent, but they’ve covered their tracks too well. There is a high possibility we won’t ever find him again.” Once upon a time Peter would imagine how he would break it to Derek that Stiles is gone, that he didn’t come back one night. That the strange spell between them was broken. He planned how to try to be his nicest, kind in a way he’s never been used to, to let the teen down easily. He never pictured having to do this for Stiles… That it might mean something to Stiles.

He still isn’t sure if it does.

The kid doesn’t cry or break down, the usual identifiers are missing. That tell you if he's heart broken, jilted, miserable. He frowns though, and it’s such a Derek expression that Peter’s heart aches suddenly. Derek was always a shit leader, but when he let you in, you couldn’t help but get his soppy feelings all over you. Peter knew this painfully from experience. Stiles is covered in Derek.

Finally Stiles tips his head to the side. It makes Peter smirk in a particularly nasty way.

“I’m going to find him. I’m going to use you to find him, my question is whether that’s going to be by force or by choice.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him for a long moment, before raising his chin in challenge.

Peter grins.

"Good."

* * *

 

He cuts off contact with Talia, it’s the only way to protect the pack as he doubles down on lowering himself to the hunters’ level. They leave after their silent pact to find Derek, just far enough to keep out of the pack’s vision, but close enough if the trail starts up again anywhere close by they aren’t too far away to follow it.

Peter has a lot on his plate, at all times he is constantly looking into the Argents and Stiles’ abilities. For now he doesn’t have much for Stiles to do, but he can give him some of Derek’s jobs. He has thousands of printed copies of wildland maps. Every field or dessert across the whole country that an Argent affiliated vehicle has ever been documented even driving close to. They’re up to date, printed from satellite imagery, snapshots of what the world looks like from above. Anything that could be a sign of a facility he has Stiles circle.

“Be the paranoid little shit I know you are, and circle literally anything that you think is suspicious. We’ll triage later.”

 

* * *

 

Two nights in. Peter’s research says that feeding can help regeneration, he considers where his lines are drawn before turning to look at Stiles.

“Go out and feed… Don’t come back until you’re full.”

Stiles gives him a critical look, passing his eyes over Peter’s body like he’s trying to work out the weight of him. His moral calibre or his physical prowess, he can’t be sure.

He goes out.

 

He comes back smelling of death.

 

It becomes a routine.

 

* * *

 

  
Peter likes the pace of constant movement, finding new hotels every few nights for them to set up again in. It stops them stagnating, getting in a rut. It allows him go out at night to beat the shit out of any men and women he knows have even looked at an Argent before for information.

He gets stabbed with a wolfsbane knife one night, pulling it out and shoving the blade through the guy’s hand in a shitty back alley scrap.

“I’m going to fuck you up Hale!” Spits the hunter.

“Unfortunately that pleasure is all mine.” The guy is screaming only an hour later, blabbing whatever half baked rumours he’s heard. It’s nothing, everything is what Peter already knows or has already followed up on. He wants to kill the man in frustration, but he simply punches him in the face. “Advise your friends to have better intel, they might get to keep their fingers.”

At worst it’ll get a message out, make Gerard Argent jumpy. Choose to move quicker and less carefully than he would otherwise. That or he might kill Derek.

When he gets home Stiles is waiting for him, obviously on edge because he’s so much later than normal. That’s what happens when you have low level wolfsbane poisoning.

“I’m fine, I’ll make food in a second.” He’s unsure if Stiles can actually cook, but they just have a shitty microwave to work with right now so it’s not fine-dining for either of them anyway. Stiles appears to always be waiting to be provided for. Perhaps it’s a leftover tick from living in a cell for so long: you eat when food is given to you.

Peter collapses onto the bed, panting slightly. He has a box of wolfsbane in his bag that he’ll need to get up and burn to cure the wound in a minute, but his body is just so tired. It all feels hopeless in these moments, like he’s hurtling down a tunnel with no end in sight. Beating up Hunters so he can, at best, find Derek’s broken body in a month’s time. He should probably feel bad that this is so much worse than when they lost Laura, but the truth was never something Peter could feel particularly guilty over. He’ll snap back, the need for revenge - at least - reengaging him.

Stiles hovers by the bed, Peter's eyes are closed but he can feel the proximity. The slight body's heat emanating just to his left. Peter considers saying something soothing, assuring him that it's all fine, that he'll be back at it in a moment. It's what he would say to Derek when they did this. But Stiles isn't Derek, and Peter has no reason to placate him.

He feels Stiles' hand touch his belt.

Peter's eyes snap open.

"Stop it."

Stiles isn't looking at him, instead trying to work the stiff belt open with his hands. They're not shaking, but they're feather light.

Peter grabs his wrist, "I said stop it."

Stiles rolls his eyes at him, and pushes the heel of his hand into the deep wound seeping from his jeans.

Peter flinches, hissing, claws coming out to swipe at Stiles even though the kid has lept backwards.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Peter shouts at him, annoyed at not predicting the attack but still not even sure why it happened.  _Why the fuck is the kid trying to seduce him now of all times._

Stiles huffs and points at the wound again, before rolling his eyes and takes Peter's hand to write something in his palm. It's too many letters too quickly, he has no idea how this works for Derek. How many hours they must have practised together, until he became fluent in Stiles' specific brand of communication.

"Just get some fucking paper... Wait.. Are you trying to help dress the wound?"

Stiles rolls his eyes again and nods.

At least that makes sense, although there is nothing in him that wants to rely on Stiles like that.

"Okay, go get my bag."

He undoes his jeans and pushes them down, hissing at the uncomfortable feeling of his jeans ripping skin that had become fused to bits of the wound. When it's on show he has to lie back down again from the pain. The poisoning is getting worse, his whole thigh has gone black, and he's feeling debilitated.

"Look in the wound to see if there's any debris."

He bites back a whine as cold little fingers poke about at the stab site, his sight going dizzy when he feels one of Stiles’ digits slipping into where the knife had previously gone.

"Take out the box, there should be folded envelopes of wolfsbane. Put one of them in the ashtray and burn it."

He opens his eyes to watch the little fire taking place in the palm of Stiles' hand, the kid is staring at it intently. Eyes tracking the flames that flicker a lurid green now and again, taking in the nuances of the process. When the flames quell Stiles looks at him. Peter's leg is shaking, the nerve endings feel like they are dying.

"Put the ash in the wound, I'd say don't be squeamish, but I doubt you are- Jesus Fuck! No, keep going, put it all in."

It feels worse before it gets better, as soon as the ash has nullified the poison his body starts to heal. He's fine, it was deep but not a large wound.

"Good, put it all away. And wash your hands, you look even more deranged with blood all over you."

Stiles smirks at him, his eyes glancing down to Peter's own hands that are still marred with the blood of the hunters’.

Peter snorts, "Touche."

* * *

 

When he hits dead ends with the hunter intel he focuses on Stiles. There's a lot of bull shit about sirens, Peter knows because there's a lot of bull shit about werewolves.

"Do you actually know anything about your abilities?" He asks one night, lamenting the fact that he can't just bloody ask his local siren representative.

Stiles shrugs.

"You used them, before you were caught?"

Stiles nods.

"Ever heard of a siren regenerating a vox box?"

Stiles pauses, and shakes his head.

"Do you think it's impossible?"

Stiles shakes his head.

"Good."

Peter thinks back to when he was considering Stiles' family, all those weeks ago. Maybe he did have a family somewhere, or a throng of sirens. He had no idea how the things even procreate.

"Do you have a family?"

Stiles flinches, before shaking his head.

"Did you ever?"

Stiles slinks over to him and takes his palm.

D... E... A... D.

Peter knows this one.

"Well, that's inconvenient."

Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to his maps.

* * *

 

Not finding any leads makes him desperate and cruel, it'd been so much easier with Derek here. Someone to keep him even, someone to care that he didn't go off the deep end. Stiles is at best indifferent to his turns, and at worst an active accelerant.

He starts getting creative.

If Stiles could speak he would have done this in an abandoned warehouse, but as it is he just has to care about the mess. He pushes the beds out the way and puts down a tarp, placing a hardback wooden chair on the centre. He has rope in his bag, he knows Stiles has seen it.

"Come here." Peter finally looks over at the kid. Stiles is sitting with his knees against his chest on the bed. He doesn’t move towards him, Peter can smell an undercurrent of fear bleeding into the air, increasing every time Stiles looks at the chair. He’s only just come down from a deathly feeding high, and Peter wonders if he should have done this when Stiles was too out of it to resist. It doesn’t really matter, he can force Stiles into the chair even if he puts up a struggle.

“Come here.” He says again, there’s a sense of finality to his voice. Stiles shakes his head, his little heart tripping up in speed, Peter’s hand is out waiting for him to come closer. Peter’s body is completely still, relaxed almost, ready to snatch him if Stiles does something ridiculously pathetic like try to bolt.

The silence stretches out between them for a long tense moment.

Finally Stiles delicately unfurls putting one foot on the floor, then the other. His heart rate is racing, every step towards Peter it feels like it’s increasing. When he’s close enough for Peter to touch he flinches when Peter’s hand comes around his skinny arm. It’s pathetic, but Peter has always found things he’s about to cause horrific amount of damage to pathetic, it’s probably a coping mechanism to make it easier. There’s no reason for Stiles to _not_ be batshit scared right now.

Peter peels off Stiles’ hoodie - Derek’s hoodie - displaying all the milky white skin again, before situating him in the chair.

He’s impressed by how little Stiles is struggling, but at the same time there’s something utterly morose about the horrified acceptance the kid is showing him.

The room feels too quiet, _everything about Stiles has always been too quiet_.

Peter gets out the ropes and starts binding him to the chair. Aarms to the sturdy armrests. Tight enough to reduce movement - it’ll help Stiles later that he can’t move - and his feet to the chair legs. He has to touch him a lot, more than he’s ever touched him before. Even the night he slipped up.

Stiles uses his only other asset and starts filling the air with silver. The taste of it makes his mouth water, his hands feel sticky with it as he checks the space between the rope and flesh. Peter didn’t stop taking the immunity potion, so it has little effect on his determined preparation. He didn't even begrudge Stiles, for once, he was just trying to protect himself. It made sense he was trying. Peter considered telling him what he was about to do, but that probably wouldn't make it any easier. Let Stiles think this was just a power play until it clearly wasn't.

Peter picks up the obscure latin book again, and memorises the first six sets of runes. He'd practised drawing them when Stiles was out two nights before, before taking out a knife.

The only sound in the room was Stiles’ light breathing, racing heart, and the sound of the wood creaking as Stiles' body quaked. Still not trying to struggle, acceptance, but that didn't mean that his body was able to stay still.

Peter put the book down, and finally looked at Stiles.

"Stay still."

Stiles didn't agree, but didn't matter anyway, Peter had bound him this tight for a reason.

* * *

 

Peter remembers how horrible it is to watch someone scream when they can't make a noise.

 

* * *

 

Peter is covered in blood. He's been in worse positions, but rarely has he had to do such fine hand work as blood literally slips up his arms. By the end of it he regrets not using anaesthetic, but the book had said that the combined runes and pain may force a siren's body to begin regenerating. It didn't, so Peter had tortured Stiles for no reason.

The runes might still prove useful, when they try other things in the future, but Stiles being awake and in pain will always be for nothing.

It was worth the chance however and Peter has never been very good at regretting the truth.

 

* * *

 

Stiles slumps forward when he finally undoes the binds, into Peter's stomach. He's crying a constant flow of tears, smearing yet more blood onto Peter's clothes. Peter takes his arms and rubs them, encouraging the blood to return to the skin and leaching away the pain. Stiles is so grateful he arches into it, panting, acting as if Peter wasn't the one who just maimed him.

Peter finds it harder to find it pathetic on this side.

* * *

 

Stiles stays curled up in bed for three days, the first night his body doesn't stop shaking. Periodically Peter comes over to leach some more pain and feed him.

They don't talk.

Peter never tried to fill the silence before, and doesn't see a reason to start now.

He does stroke Stiles’ hair as he takes the pain away though, encouraging Stiles to fall back into a healing sleep.

Peter wonders how much Derek will hate him when he finds out he did this, and the thought makes him smile. He has enough belief that Derek will be there to shout at him, that in of itself is a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has specific warnings of blood, torture and just generally bad times all around.
> 
>  
> 
> In case you haven't caught it on my other fics, I am officially leaving fandom. I am however planning to upload all the fic I already have written (there's at least one more chapter for this one, maybe a second after that) and have no plans to delete my fic.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has supported me over the years, I do love reading your comments even if I am no longer replying to them.   
> _also yes i know this was a horrific chapter, soz_


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